Lightweight
by I Was Here Moments Ago
Summary: Peter and Lincoln go out for drinks. Pecoln. The result of discussing this ship amazingly in depth. Not angst for a change!


**Using the scenario Larissa and I have been talking about, although it's mainly based on Larissa's answer to a question on her Tumblr. The jacket comment is for Monique ;) **

**I'm warning you now, I am a _huge _Pecoln shipper. This is really for Larissa and Monnie and anyone else I've discussed Pecoln ridiculously in depth with.  
**

* * *

Peter has been at the bar for hours now. He doesn't want to go home; he can't handle seeing Bell in Olivia's body. Not only is he the most annoying man he's ever met, but he has to get dressed, shower, in _his girlfriend's body_.

He can't wait until Bell's in a man's body again, so he can punch him in the goddamn face.

His phone starts ringing, suddenly. Peter doesn't recognize the number, but he answers it anyway.

"Peter?"

"Lincoln?"

"Oh thank God, I've called the same wrong number four times."

He's grateful the bar isn't busy, but he's convinced he's misheard. "_Four _times? Why?"

"It's this new phone I've got, the buttons are really close together," he says like it's obvious.

Peter laughs. "I mean why were you calling me?"

"Okay." Peter hears him take a deep breath, and he smirks to himself. "I know it's way above my clearance level but what happened today was unreal. I can't just forget that and move on. I need to know what else is going on."

"You want to know about us?" Peter asks, grinning. Lincoln sounds so nervous.

"I shouldn't have asked, it's confidential, I'm sorry," he says quickly. "I'd better go."

"Hold on a second," Peter laughs. "I'm in Atwood's Tavern right now, you're welcome to meet me here and I'll tell you what you want to know. You helped more than you know today."

"Then I'm on my way." Peter hears the smile in his voice, and grins. He's glad Lincoln's coming; he was getting sick of drinking alone, especially since an old man is possessing his usual drinking partner. He needs someone sane to talk to, and lately he's caught himself missing Mathis. He at least felt like she gave a damn when he talked. He doesn't even want to _try _and talk to Walter; all he'll do is blame himself for everything and it's not what Peter needs. He feels like he could talk to Lincoln, however. And if not, at least he'd be able to take his mind off of what has been happening lately.

Lincoln doesn't take long to arrive. "Either you live really close, or you were speeding, Agent Lee," Peter smirks as Lincoln sits down next to him, drinks in hand.

"I turned on my siren," he laughs.

"Do you think in exchange for information about Fringe Division, you can get me one of those?" Peter grins.

"I'll see what I can do," he smiles, . "Okay, first question – do the girls in the lab ever make out in front of you guys?"

Peter almost chokes on his beer. "Excuse me?"

"They're together, right?"

Peter stares at him in disbelief, until he remembers Bell's shameless flirting with Astrid. He laughs, hard. "No, no they're not together."

"Damn," Lincoln grins. "Had you been here long before I called?"

"About two hours," Peter shrugs. "It's been a hell of a day."

"You can say that again," Lincoln finishes his drink, and orders another one. "I've got to catch up with you," he tells Peter, grinning. "This is why I never drink, once I start I can't stop."

"Are you _slurring_?" Peter laughs. "You're slurring. You're drunk already. Lightweight."

"I'm not slurring anything," Lincoln says, shaking his head. "You're trying to change the subject."

"What subject?" Peter laughs.

"Soul vampires!" he shouts, making himself jump. Peter chuckles. He gives it fifteen minutes before Lincoln's completely wasted. He's only halfway through his second glass and he's already making the few other people in the bar stare at him. More people are starting to arrive, though, so Peter hopes they'll be louder than Lincoln is getting.

"What do you want to know about them?" Peter humours him.

"I want to know about _all _of the vampires," Lincoln tells him, gesturing to the bartender to get them both another drink. Peter hadn't finished yet, but Lincoln takes his glass anyway, and finishes it off. Peter shakes his head, grinning. Though the place is getting louder, it's still fairly quiet, but Lincoln seems to feel the need to shout the order. When the drinks have arrived, he looks at Peter expectantly. "Vampires."

Peter snorts. "Who do you think I am, Buffy?"

Lincoln laughs. Only it's more of a giggle. "Are you? Because I won't complain if you're Buffy in disguise. Are you undercover?"

"Yes, I'm Buffy, undercover," Peter grins.

"You're prettier than Buffy," Lincoln informs him.

Peter smirks. "_Now _you're drunk. What's that, three, four drinks? _Damn_."

"_Peter_, I'm _not _drunk," he leans over to him, but slides off the bar stool. Peter grabs him, and helps him back on. "See? I'm _not _drunk."

"Of course not, I don't know what I was thinking," he smirks. "You might want to slow down, though."

Lincoln glares at him, and finishes off his drink, then leans over to grab Peter's, but he slips off the bar stool again. "_You're _drunk, Peter," Lincoln tells him as he helps him back on. "You keep falling off your chair."

Peter laughs, and when he sees Lincoln's puzzled expression and realizes he was being serious, his laughter turns hysterical.

"I don't see what's funny, personally. The _damage_ you could do to your liver, Peter. You said you'd been here _hours_, do you _know _how much alcohol is in your blood? You're going to die if you carry on like this and _then _where will we be? Did you know alcohol is linked to more than _seventy five thousand _deaths a year in _America alone_?"

Peter takes a deep breath to calm himself down. "You're right, I have a problem," he grins. "You're going to have to help me."

Lincoln's face brightens. "Okay, pass me your drink." Peter does, amused. Lincoln looks at him seriously, before finishing off Peter's drink again.

"You son of a bitch," Peter laughs.

"I'm only trying to help. I'll swap my glasses for your gloves," Lincoln says suddenly, taking off his glasses and waving them in Peter's face. "It's a good deal."

"I'll think about it while I'm getting the next round in, okay?" he grins.

"No, but I mean the glasses make things bigger and you can wear them on your _face_, and they help you _see_, and all gloves do are keep your hands warm, so it's a good deal." He's still trying to convince Peter when the drinks come how good of a deal it is.

"Can you see without your glasses?" Peter laughs.

"Can _you_ see without your gloves?" Lincoln retorts.

Peter's amazed and incredibly amused by how quickly Lincoln has managed to get drunk. He's had over twice the amount of alcohol Lincoln has just drunk, and he's still, for the most part, sober. He grins, and passes Lincoln his gloves, who immediately puts them on. "Your glasses," Peter reminds him.

"I need them to see," Lincoln tells him, smirking, putting his glasses back on. "You're so gullible, Peter."

"I am going to beat the _crap _out of you in a minute," Peter laughs, taking his glasses off him easily, and trying them on. "_Jesus. _Your eyesight is _terrible_."

"_Your _eyesight is terrible," he mutters, as Peter passes him back his glasses. He looks up suddenly, and grins. "Dance with me, Peter!" he slides off the bar stool, trips, and grabs Peter as he rights himself, pulling him from his own seat.

"No way. I think it's time you went home," Peter laughs, trying to lead him out of the bar. "_Lincoln_, no one wants to dance with you, leave them alone," he chuckles as Lincoln looks hopefully at a group of guys staring at them.

"They have nice jackets," he tells Peter absentmindedly. "They're quite expensive but they went out of fashion _months _ago."

Peter finally manages to get Lincoln outside, the cold air sobering him up completely, but it seems to make Lincoln worse. He turns to Peter, and throws his arms around him before Peter can do anything. "It's been so _fun_," he tells him. Peter doesn't know what to do; he tries to wriggle free but Lincoln won't let go.

"Yeah," Peter says, and is relieved when Lincoln's grip loosens, but his relief is short lived. He quickly manages to wrap his arms around Peter's neck, and kiss him hard before Peter even realizes he's kissing him back. He staggers backwards into a wall and lets Lincoln, who seems to be encouraged by Peter's reaction, continue. It's as Lincoln starts unbuttoning Peter's shirt, that he tastes the alcohol on Lincoln's breath and remembers how drunk he is. He grabs Lincoln's hands and pushes him away, gently. "I'm taking you home now," he says breathlessly.

Lincoln stares at him for a moment, and smiles. "I'll probably tell you I'm sorry tomorrow," he says, his voice a little quieter than it had been in the bar but his words still incredibly sluSrred, "but I'm not."

Peter doesn't say anything as he grabs Lincoln's wrist and leads him to his car in silence. The only words exchanged between the two of them are Lincoln's murmured directions to his place. Peter tries to take in what just happened. He has a _girlfriend _and he's just made out with a _guy_. A guy he barely knows. A guy who has made him laugh more in one night than he feels like he has in months. He doesn't feel guilty, and nor does he regret kissing him back, but he can't work out why. He tells himself it's just the alcohol, even though he knows it's not. Only when he stops outside Lincoln's house does Peter realize that he has been watching him drive, a worried expression on his face. He rolls his eyes. "What's up with you?"

"I've changed my mind, I _am _sorry," he says quietly, his eyes wide.

"I'm not. Get out of my car, Lincoln," Peter grins, getting out himself. He helps Lincoln stagger inside, and onto his sofa. He smirks as Lincoln closes his eyes and seems to fall asleep instantaneously. Just as he's about to leave, he hears Lincoln mutter something. "What did you say?"

"I really like you, Peter."

He laughs quietly. "Goodnight, Lincoln." He turns off the lights and leaves Lincoln's place, deciding that for as long as Bell is keeping Peter from staying at home, he'd be quite happy to get Lincoln spectacularly drunk every night.


End file.
